


Absolution

by Lexzandrihya



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: And He Gets Love, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Booker needs Love, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Gets Therapy, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Needs Therapy, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Needs a Hug, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Whump, Depressed Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexzandrihya/pseuds/Lexzandrihya
Summary: “To observe them is a gift, a light that guides me out of my hazy mind. To see their happiness, and find that they occasionally wish to share what they have. I am glad that they are not alone in this long life. That they have each other and need no one else, least of all me. The one who wants them so badly that I do not want to live this life for I cannot share it with them. Lord, take me because I would die rather than be condemned to an existence without them.“Nicolo has always been kind to me. Yusuf is right when he says that “His heart overflows with a kindness that this world is not worthy of.” Forget the world, I’m not deserving of it.“Yusuf, with all his passion. I admire and envy him for it. How I wish that I could be loved with such intensity.”Why didn't he tell us that it was getting so bad? That was a thought that Yusuf kept repeating to himself.Why just why?He loved that man with all of his heart. Just as he loved Nicolo.Why couldn’t Sebastien see that?OrThey find a diary of Booker's and understand his pain, effectively cutting his exile short.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nile Freeman, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nile Freeman, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	Absolution

He always slept a little apart from them, Yusuf and Nicolo, not wanting to intrude. 

He never presumed that they would give him more than sex before they slept.

He never expected to be invited on their travels. 

So the moments, the memories, that he held close were those of when the three of them were so exhausted from their night-time activities, that they would collapse into bed with him encompassed by their bodies.

Why did they invite him to their bed and to join in their travels? Sometimes he agreed to join them in bed, but he always refused their offer of travels. He knew his place. And it wasn't with them. 

Was it some misguided attempt to show him that he wasn't alone? If it was, then the attempt backfired, completely; he felt more alone in their embraces for he knew that those weren't his to keep.

He laid staring at them at night. Memorising their features. He’d be in their bed, in their space, but never part of them, always separate. 

He made sure to leave before they woke. Not knowing how long they would tolerate his presence for.

He wanted them so, so badly. He wanted them to be his and wanted to be theirs. 

But he wasn't, they weren’t and couldn’t be.

That was proven when they unflinchingly made the decision to abandon him for a hundred years. They had lived so long that while to them, a hundred years was no blink of an eye, it was not a passage of time of which they could see no end. But to him, a hundred years was an eternity.

He was nothing to them. Absolutely nothing.

“One hundred years from today, they’ll meet you here. Till then you’re alone.”

It should have been no different from his usual state, but now he had lost the solace of knowing that if he picked up his phone and called one of them, he would be greeted with friendly words and reassurances that they were alright. He had lost the right to know that.

Andromache. Andromache’s immortality. Why now? Who shot her? How could she believe he did? 

The shot came from behind him, and Copley ambushed her from behind and tied her up. 

He wanted them. His bets with Nicolo. Andromache's hand on his back as they sat drinking on a sleepless night. Football with Yusuf. Nicolo’s kisses as they fell into bed. Yusuf clapping him on the back. 

Nightmares plagued him. 

He missed his family. 

Amelie. Her gentle affection. Her kind words. 

Alexander, filled with a loyalty that no one was worthy of.

Julien, with a heart big enough to encompass the world.

Jean-Pierre. His baby. The one who resembled him so very much in nature. 

He wasn't worthy of them. He didn't know how to be worthy of them.

He was nothing but a coward.

-lex-

“To observe them is a gift, a light that guides me out of my hazy mind. To see their happiness, and find that they occasionally wish to share what they have. I am glad that they are not alone in this long life. That they have each other and need no one else, least of all me. The one who wants them so badly that I do not want to live this life for I cannot share it with them. Lord, take me because I would die rather than be condemned to an existence without them.

“Nicolo has always been kind to me. Yusuf is right when he says that “His heart overflows with a kindness that this world is not worthy of.” Forget the world, I’m not deserving of it. 

“Yusuf, with all his passion. I admire and envy him for it. How I wish that I could be loved with such intensity.” 

Why didn't he tell us that it was getting so bad? That was a thought that Yusuf kept repeating to himself. 

Why just why? 

He loved that man with all of his heart. Just as he loved Nicolo. 

Why couldn’t Sebastien see that?

What had they done wrong? 

Why couldn’t Sebastien love him and love Nicolo the way they love him?

That’s why his betrayal hit them so hard. 

They didn't ask either. 

They should have. He should have. 

Why didn't they? 

Depression, PTSD excreta. These were the terms people used to describe mental health issues, but just because they were recently named didn't mean that the conditions hadn’t been around for a long time.

All of them had been through similar problems at one point or another. And so, they should have known the signs. 

A hundred years. What had he condemned Sebastien too? A hundred years of loneliness, misery, nothing but guilt for company. It was a mistake. 

The diary was the turning point. for that is when Yusuf and Nicolo knew that Sebastien loved them as they loved him.

“Booker. Booker. We have to bring him back.”

Yusuf looked at Nicolo with absolute panic in his eyes as the full extent of what their anger had subjected Booker to hit him. 

His pain did not excuse his actions, but it explained them. Sebastien wasn't forgiven, far from it, but absolution would be something they would have to work towards together. 

The rest of the Guard silently agreed and scampered to the car. They were in Rome, so it was approximately a ten-hour drive. 

It took them five.

-lex- 

He was asleep when they found him. He didn't look peaceful. Both Yusuf and Nicolo were at a loss of whether the lack of solace he found in sleep was normal or just because he was alone. Both hoped it was because of the latter. Because at least that way, he would soon find peace. 

He looked so tired. So much so that even fatigue would have been an understatement. 

He was always tired. 

Sebastien could fall asleep on any surface, any place, no matter how uncomfortable. 

Yusuf, Nicolo and Andromache all remembered a time when they were the same. When melancholy filled them and all the strength they had was to sleep. It wasn't to the extent that Sebastien seemed to be suffering from, but they had all gone through this. How could they have been so blind, so ignorant? And that too to a man they considered brother and heart, respectively. 

He had cried for help. 

His constant drinking was one of them. 

They should have asked what he was trying to drown. 

They should have told him that they knew what he was going through. 

They should have been there for him.

Sebastien did not know how to ask for comfort or affection. 

Andromache remembered how he used to scream as he woke from his sleep. Was it because he dreamt of Quynh constantly? She knew why he wouldn't tell them. The first time he dreamt of her, all those years before he was a permanent fixture in the team before he lost his family, he told them of what he saw. A woman, trapped in some sort of coffin, drowning over, and over, and over again. He saw the look on her face. On all their faces. The grief must have been prevalent even then. Even three hundred years after. He never brought her up again. And they wrongfully believed that the dreams must have stopped. 

-lex- 

Yusuf and Nicolo requested that Andromache and Nile leave them for a while. Allow them to tell Sebastien, in private, how much they loved him and how sorry they were that they failed him so. 

Sebastien woke like a tortured man, arising from a lacerated unconsciousness. As though he had something to fear. And he did, Yusuf realised. He feared being alone. They had isolated a man who, in his mind, was already alone. They had isolated a man, so terrified of being alone that they would rather die than face it. 

“I’m so sorry, Sebastien.” He whispered into the thrashing man’s ear. 

So unused was Sebastien to being held, that it seemed as though it was torment. 

“Please, calm, Basti. We’re here. You are not alone. You will never be alone again. I promise.”

“Why are you here?” He sobbed. “Is being away from you, not punishment enough, that I have to know your embrace only to lose it?” 

“You will never lose it. I swear.” 

“Let me go! I beg you!” He screeched in agony.

“Never.” Both men vowed in unison. “Never, not in a thousand or even a million years. Never.”

“You exiled me. A hundred years. Don't extend it. It’s too much.” 

“You’re coming home. Now. Not in a century, not in a year, not in an hour. Now. And you’ll never have to leave again.”

“Honest?”

“Yes.” 

-lex- 

Yusuf and Nicolo held him close as he wailed in what they hoped was relief. 

And Sebastien was relieved. He knew not what caused the change of heart but was grateful for it. 

Maybe one day he would have the strength to finish his exile, but today was not the day. 

He laid in their arms, accepting what they would give, schooling his heart not to ask for more. 

He wasn't alone for now, but when the team went on another break, he would be. 

Left to his own devices, his demons would overtake his mind. 

An idle mind is the devil’s workshop. Never was anything truer ever uttered. 

They didn't ask him to rise and leave the warmth of their embraces. They didn't ask him to do anything. They wouldn't, was what Nicolo crooned in his ear. Whatever he wanted, needed, he would have. 

“I love you.” They whispered in his ear. 

Those were the words he had longed to hear for years. Was it true? Did they mean it? He didn't know. But he wanted to believe. 

When he finally found the courage to rise from their arms, their smiles reassured him that they would remain.

-lex- 

Andromache and Nile rejoined then a few hours later. They had bought take-out from a nearby restaurant and the five of them sat around the table and ate. 

Sebastien was nervously playing with his food, punishing himself for his crimes. It didn't matter that the others were here and were claiming to have forgiven him, he wasn't acquitted. He was guilty of exposing them to Copley and Merrick. 

The hours of torture that Yusuf and Nicolo went through, that was his doing. Andromache’s mortality too. 

“Sebastien, eat.” 

He flinched upon hearing his name. No one had called him that in a long time. Booker was a mask he donned. Sebastien was who he truly was. 

He stabbed a piece of chicken on his plate and put it into his mouth. 

Swallowing proved difficult due to the wave of nausea that hit him. 

Sprinting to the bathroom, he dry heaved for a few minutes. His stomach was empty, but his body wanted to expel whatever was in it. 

He was so petrified that he was going to be alone when he hurt them again. When he ultimately made another mistake and they realised that he wasn't deserving of them, of their company. 

There was a hand on his back, he realised, that was gently stroking up and down. A hand on his head, carding through his messy locks. And hands in his. Just holding him. 

Yusuf was murmuring in ancient Arabic. It should have been soothing, but it wasn't. It increased his panic. He didn't know when he’d be alone again. He didn't know how he’d get used to not being touched again.

“Let me go.” He begged. It was only a matter of time when he’d be alone. 

He was conflicted. He wanted to remain with them, to learn what their touches felt like, their love, but he was not oblivious to the fact that he was a screwup and sooner or later he would live up to his reputation. 

Yusuf looked into Sebastien’s eyes and almost recoiled at the despair, anguish and self-loathing. He couldn’t read Sebastien as he could Nicolo, but he wanted to. He wanted to know every part of Sebastien, the good and the bad. To have no secrets between them and to be able to share their pain. Misery shared is misery halved. 

“Please don't leave me alone.” He pleaded. He ached to be wanted, to be loved. 

“You’ll never be alone. Believe me, please.” Nicolo implored. 

“How can I?” Sebastien spoke through sobs. “It’s not in you to stay. I… You have your own thing. I don't expect you to want to be around me all the time.”

“How did we get so messed up? How can you not expect us to be there for you? Basti…” Andromache muttered, mostly to herself. She too started to tear up. Six thousand years, a hell of a lot of pain, and yet she was oblivious to the pain of her baby brother. A man with understanding for her grief so deep that she trusted him with her profound pain, pain that she never trusted Yusuf or Nicolo with. Standing there, looking at the grief rolling off the Frenchman’s shoulders, she realised that not once had he shared how he felt, or compared his grief to her own. Grief was grief, no matter how long it had been felt. 

She gestured to Yusuf and Nicolo to let her speak to him. 

“Do you want to move, Darling?”

Sebastien’s head snapped up. Darling? When had she ever called him that? He didn't know whether he was allowed to refuse, but his body was refusing to comply. He meant to nod, but he shook his head. Realising what he did he flinched back, as though afraid of being hit. 

“Den tha se pligóso.” I’m not going to hurt you. 

“I didn’t realise your hurt and pain. I ignored all the signs that I should have known to look out for. I cannot take the blame for your actions but I’m not faultless. None of us are. We all share the responsibility for what went down two months ago. And we are guilty of hurting you even more than you hurt us.”

Nicolo continued to speak for Andromache, “Those few days that we spent captured were painful, yes, but we caused you so, so much more pain by…” He paused, trying to search for the right word, “abandoning you. By making you believe that you deserve to be alone.” He cusped the back of Sebastien’s neck and leaned forward till their foreheads met. “You don’t deserve to be alone. You are a good man. You deserve to be surrounded by the people you love and those who love you. I’m so sorry we made you believe otherwise.”

“I hurt you.”

“Not more than we hurt you.”

-lex- 

They stayed in Marseille for a while more. Sebastien was still wary of them. 

Whenever he did something that he felt was a mistake, he flinched hard. Trying to touch him yielded the same response. None of them understood the response. They had never struck him in anger, so why was his reaction as though he expected to be?

Days were spent talking and really getting to know one another. Even after literal centuries, they barely understood each other. Apart from fighting, missions and reconvening, they didn't ken anything about each other. They shared anecdotes of the past. Even Sebastien cracked a smile when Andromache shared a story of Woolly Mammoths. 

Nights, for Sebastien, were spent laying in Yusuf and Nicolo’s embraces in a haze of uncertainty. Knowing their confusing kisses, not grasping what they meant and how long he would be able to keep it. 

Nights, for the rest were spent talking and planning for how to make Sebastien understand that he was loved.

Two months away from them, without the ability and comfort of knowing that if he called they would answer had made him unrecognisable in their eyes. He didn't know how to speak to them. He never shared anything about himself. 

They realised that apart from missions, weaponry and other technicalities, they never truly spoke to him. Never tried to comprehend his grief. 

As he slept, Yusuf and Nicolo would whisper all they wanted to say to him, all the declarations of love and the poetics that they wanted to sprout. They hoped that he would hear their words, and reply in kind, but either he didn't, or he wouldn't. 

-lex- 

For so long Sebastien had not received the attention of his family. For so long he had been the invisible man who ran the team’s errands, wordlessly did the things that no one else wanted too. Took the couch so that Andromache had a room to rest in. He did things for them, but no one noticed. Not one word of cursorial thanks. He was ignored and while he wasn't physically harmed, it didn't mean that he wasn't hurt. 

Nile spoke passionately about therapy. Andromache relented after weeks of persuasion. 

Copley found someone that could be trusted. 

-lex- 

“Hello!” The therapist spoke as they entered the room. He was cheerful in a way that was unexpected. Andromache felt a little guilty for the amount of baggage they were going to dump on him. 

“I’m Jake Wesley, but just call me Jake, please introduce yourselves.” He continued, smiling. 

They all turned to Andromache and waited for her to initiate. 

She gave the man in front of her a long hard stare. 

“Andromache the Scythian. Andy”

“Greece. Nice.” 

“I believe so. The land space of Greece was much larger when I was born.” 

Wesley looked a little confused but nodded along.  
“Yusuf Al-Kayasani, but I prefer Joe.” 

“Where are you from?”

“North Africa, in what could be Tunisia.”

Wesley wanted to ask, but his intuition told not to. 

“Nicolo Di Genova. From Genova. Nicky.”

“Italy. It’s a beautiful country.”

“Genova. And yes, it is. ”

He added that to the growing list of things he was confused about.

There was a pause while Nile waited for Sebastien to introduce himself, realising that he wasn't going to, she interjected. “Nile, like the river. I’m from Chicago.” She smiled at him, suddenly realising that his world would be shaken up in a few minutes. 

Wesley turned towards Sebastien. His keen eyes studied the haggard man. Henched shoulders. Unkempt hair. Deep lines on his face. Dark circles. 

The man seemed to be leaning towards Nile and kept a distance from the other three. Every time Joe leaned towards him, he shrunk into himself. 

He watched as Joe reached out towards him and how the man flinched so hard that his head hit the back of the couch they were on. 

He didn't seem to know where he was, but his reaction pulled him back to the present.

“Booker.” 

“Is that your last name?”

Booker shook his head. 

Andy sighed. “Answer the damn-”

She cut short when, as one, Joe and Nicky turned to glare at her. 

The way she spoke, it was a command. She was the head of their… whatever they were. 

“Sebastien Le Livre. Booker. Marseillie.”

“So, uh, what are you guys to each other?”

“Family.” Nicky smiled. 

He glanced at Andy before continuing. “Because of a certain condition we all share.” 

He pulled out a knife and before Wesley could react, Nicky sliced his wrist. Wesley watched in sheer bewilderment as the cut healed almost instantaneously. 

“What? I… How?” 

“We don't know the how or the why. All we know is that when we die, we wake up again and we don't age.”

Yusuf began cracking up at the sight of the mortal man’s wide eyes. It was music to Sebastien’s ears.

Andromache glowered at the hysterical man before turning to Wesley and asking, “Can we still see you?”

“It would be an amazing chance to learn. Of course, I’ll treat you.” He announced in wondrous amazement. Trying to be playful, knowing that they would most probably not agree, he asked: “I don't suppose you’ll let me run a few tests on you?”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Booker growled, jumping to his feet, and looking his full six feet and two inches, surprising everyone in the room.

“Okay. Don't worry, I will do nothing without your consent.” He held his hands up in a placating manner. He was surprised by the reaction from the man he had picked out as quiet and afraid. 

He wanted to take a calming breath, but he didn't, he knew, from experience, that if he showed any sign that he was stumped with their case, it would demoralise them.

He supposed that it was the trauma of dying and waking up that brought them here, but he knew better than to voice his suspicions. 

“Okay, tell me what are you real ages, your age when you died and how?”

Andy started again. “Probably six thousand.” Wesley’s eyes popped out at that. He cleared his throat before nodding for her to continue. If she was the leader, as he suspected she was, then he hoped that she was the oldest because he wouldn't be able to take one of the others shouting out ‘ten thousand’.

“Are you listening?” Andy barked. 

“Yes, yes, please continue.”

“Don't know my age. Died in battle and woke up a while later.”

“She was worshipped as a god, or so she has led us to believe.” Nile joked, trying to relieve the tension.

He cracked a smile. 

“Nine hundred and sixty-nine. Died when I was twenty-three.” He smiled fondly before adding. “I was killed by Nicolo when he was a Crusader.”

“Nine hundred and sixty-six. I was twenty when Yusuf killed me.” He smiled back at his lover, or more probably his husband. 

Booker sighed, before muttering, “Two hundred and fifty. Forty-two. Hanging because of desertion.”

“Twenty-six. Twenty-five and eleven months. Stabbed in Afghanistan.” She said cheekily. 

“Why are you guys here?”

Andy, looking supremely bored replied, “Because Nile here insisted on it. Therapy,” saying the last word with the utmost distaste, “is modern nonsense. Generations and generations have lived without it. But she insisted.” 

Holding back another sigh, he turned to Nile. “I’ve been with them for two months. And they have some issues…” She explained the whole Merrick debacle and the events after. 

From what Wesley could gather, Andy was neck-deep in grief. But Wesley believed that she had found certain ways to cope with it. He didn't know how healthy or unhealthy her coping mechanisms were, but only with time would he be able to tell. While she hadn’t said anything to confirm her grief, it was obvious from her mannerisms.

Joe and Nicky seemed mentally stable. But with all honesty, they were rather tough to read.

Booker, like Andy, was neck-deep in grief, only he seemed to have found alcohol to be his crutch. Wesley’s sharp eyes did not miss the way his hand would move to his pocket every few minutes, but not find what he was looking for. He was also suffering from chronic depression, touch starvation, PTSD. And those were just the common issues, the symptoms of which he only knew off the top of his head. 

Nile seemed to be suffering from mild PTSD but seemed to be coping well.

“I would like to meet you all individually and get to know you all. So I’ll see you all once a week individually and once all together.” 

Andy exhaled forcefully before nodding her consent. 

They all left the building a little apprehensive, but Nile was hopeful that things would get better.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for a while now, and this was meant to be a one-shot but got out of hand quickly.  
> Two to three chapters? Maybe (probably) more.  
> I'm trying to add some fluff in here as well, but to be honest, it's more difficult to write than angst. Is that just me? 
> 
> Anyways, lemme know what you guys think.


End file.
